Just write whatever you want and make a long comment.
I wrote poetry a long time ago. The earliest limericks I wrote were about the sixth grade of elementary school. The content was nothing more than angels falling into demons, traveling through other worlds, challenging fate, going against the will of heaven, no one understands me, the destruction of the world, etc. It was quite middle-of-the-road, and I didn't have the courage to look back.
Later, in the first half of the first semester of junior high school, I stopped writing because I was living a free and happy life. After I transferred to another school in the first semester of junior high school, I slowly picked up poetry again and wrote about romance, secret love, and melancholy that I didn't even understand. I have to say that my writing style at that time was actually very good, and it looked stylish. At least for me who was only 12 or 3 years old at the time, my aura was extraordinary.
February 2015 - The forest is rustling, the white clouds are flowing, the fair lady is golden, the hairpin is cinnabar, when is the beautiful beauty, only the remaining flowers and willows are left. (12 Years old)
November 2015 - The sun sets in the west, leaving people with white hair. I hope you will return to me, and I will never leave you again. (12 Years old)
February 2016 - The snow is falling and the flowers are blooming as you lean against the door, tender and delicate like broken marks. The fallen flowers and leaves are covered with yellow and gray, and the tears and sighs are like losing one's soul. (13 Years old)
May 2016 - Two egrets flew from nowhere, sighing that the two flying mandarin ducks were broken. The hibiscus emerging from the water is as beautiful as mutton-fat jade, but it still has beauty and withered bones. How about a sweet smile? Can a gentleman give up his love? (13 Years old)
July 2017 - Qujiu looks at the moon in the distance, and drunkenly drinks in the wind. Fireworks come to play at night, and the home is peaceful and the heart is caged. The common people laugh at the end of the world, and there is only jade at the end of the world. This time I passed through clouds and mist, surrounded by the sound of a sword. (14 Years old)
By the time I was 17, I had graduated from junior high school. At that time, the focus of the poem had gotten rid of my secret love and the love between men and women. I started thinking about something deeper. It's not the rhythm, it's the content. I want to write something meaningful.
There are actually signs of something meaningful very early on. When I was in the second grade of junior high school, I wrote some poems that I didn't know how to classify. Let's call them modern poems for now.
November 2016 - When I write about autumn scrolls due to a cold, I feel sorry for the water.
The flying leaves brush against the flowing water, gradually entering the ice.
The sun is blinding, and the warm sun is no longer there.
It's a pity that the autumn clothes have not yet been changed and the snow has already started to fall.
May 2016 - There are flowers in the forest
Flowers bloom in summer
But there is a little bud there
The flowers laugh at it
"No flowers, no flowers..."
Little flower buds swaying in the wind
Shake his head
It doesn't want to bloom
A season of wind and rain
The flowers withered
But there is still a little bud
No flowers laugh at it anymore
Little flower buds swaying in the wind
Shake his head
It doesn't want to bloom
There are flowers in the forest
Flowers bloom in summer
But there is a little bud there
The flowers laugh at it
"No flowers, no flowers..."
March 2017 - arrived suddenly, whistling,
The stars are dripping, and the coolness is oozing,
Gray shadows sink into the clouds, nowhere to be found.
It's like traveling eighty thousand miles against the wind and rain.
You are far away, but are you looking for a new wife?
When I entered high school, my poetry felt like my arms had been chopped off. Being locked away on campus for a long time and going home once a month, I am gradually losing touch with the outside world. My spiritual energy gradually dissipated without me knowing it, and the remaining spiritual energy formed the few poems. By the time I graduated high school, my aura was gone.
High school poems such as "In the past, Junqing had a piece of red paper, left here to comfort future generations." "Walking on the shallow streets envy hundreds of ghosts, and the bells of the rain temple are full of sacrifices to the mountain spirits." "The golden light is like jade, and the golden wind blows away the flowers before they are clear." "How can the calligraphy and ink be ruthless? The universe has its own destiny.", I I liked myself very much at that time. My poetry was excellent and my aura was not labor-intensive. At that time, poetry was my way of catharsis and my psychiatrist. I analyzed my heart repeatedly before writing poems. You will not regret it later, you will feel guilty or not, and do you want to stand up.
Unfortunately, I was brought up to be like this. I gave up many dreams. Although I have stuck to my heart, I have lost a part of me and will occasionally feel melancholy. Time has gone by forever.
Poetry and time should be put together. Poetry is just poetry, but when poetry goes through time, no matter what it was at the time, it will become something more valuable.
Don't worry so much about writing poetry. Just write it. This is a poem you wrote for yourself and has nothing to do with anyone else.
Just write whatever you want and make a long comment. I wrote poetry a long time ago. The earliest limericks I wrote were about the sixth grade of elementary school. The content was nothing more than angels falling into demons, traveling through other worlds, challenging fate, going against the will of heaven, no one understands me, the destruction of the world, etc. It was quite middle-of-the-road, and I didn't have the courage to look back. Later, in the first half of the first semester of junior high school, I stopped writing because I was living a free and happy life. After I transferred to another school in the first semester of junior high school, I slowly picked up poetry again and wrote about romance, secret love, and melancholy that I didn't even understand. I have to say that my writing style at that time was actually very good, and it looked stylish. At least for me who was only 12 or 3 years old at the time, my aura was extraordinary. February 2015 - The forest is rustling, the white clouds are flowing, the fair lady is golden, the hairpin is cinnabar, when is the beautiful beauty, only the remaining flowers and willows are left. (12 Years old) November 2015 - The sun sets in the west, leaving people with white hair. I hope you will return to me, and I will never leave you again. (12 Years old) February 2016 - The snow is falling and the flowers are blooming as you lean against the door, tender and delicate like broken marks. The fallen flowers and leaves are covered with yellow and gray, and the tears and sighs are like losing one's soul. (13 Years old) May 2016 - Two egrets flew from nowhere, sighing that the two flying mandarin ducks were broken. The hibiscus emerging from the water is as beautiful as mutton-fat jade, but it still has beauty and withered bones. How about a sweet smile? Can a gentleman give up his love? (13 Years old) July 2017 - Qujiu looks at the moon in the distance, and drunkenly drinks in the wind. Fireworks come to play at night, and the home is peaceful and the heart is caged. The common people laugh at the end of the world, and there is only jade at the end of the world. This time I passed through clouds and mist, surrounded by the sound of a sword. (14 Years old) By the time I was 17, I had graduated from junior high school. At that time, the focus of the poem had gotten rid of my secret love and the love between men and women. I started thinking about something deeper. It's not the rhythm, it's the content. I want to write something meaningful. There are actually signs of something meaningful very early on. When I was in the second grade of junior high school, I wrote some poems that I didn't know how to classify. Let's call them modern poems for now. November 2016 - When I write about autumn scrolls due to a cold, I feel sorry for the water. The flying leaves brush against the flowing water, gradually entering the ice. The sun is blinding, and the warm sun is no longer there. It's a pity that the autumn clothes have not yet been changed and the snow has already started to fall. May 2016 - There are flowers in the forest Flowers bloom in summer But there is a little bud there The flowers laugh at it "No flowers, no flowers..." Little flower buds swaying in the wind Shake his head It doesn't want to bloom A season of wind and rain The flowers withered But there is still a little bud No flowers laugh at it anymore Little flower buds swaying in the wind Shake his head It doesn't want to bloom There are flowers in the forest Flowers bloom in summer But there is a little bud there The flowers laugh at it "No flowers, no flowers..." March 2017 - arrived suddenly, whistling, The stars are dripping, and the coolness is oozing, Gray shadows sink into the clouds, nowhere to be found. It's like traveling eighty thousand miles against the wind and rain. You are far away, but are you looking for a new wife? When I entered high school, my poetry felt like my arms had been chopped off. Being locked away on campus for a long time and going home once a month, I am gradually losing touch with the outside world. My spiritual energy gradually dissipated without me knowing it, and the remaining spiritual energy formed the few poems. By the time I graduated high school, my aura was gone. High school poems such as "In the past, Junqing had a piece of red paper, left here to comfort future generations." "Walking on the shallow streets envy hundreds of ghosts, and the bells of the rain temple are full of sacrifices to the mountain spirits." "The golden light is like jade, and the golden wind blows away the flowers before they are clear." "How can the calligraphy and ink be ruthless? The universe has its own destiny.", I I liked myself very much at that time. My poetry was excellent and my aura was not labor-intensive. At that time, poetry was my way of catharsis and my psychiatrist. I analyzed my heart repeatedly before writing poems. You will not regret it later, you will feel guilty or not, and do you want to stand up. Unfortunately, I was brought up to be like this. I gave up many dreams. Although I have stuck to my heart, I have lost a part of me and will occasionally feel melancholy. Time has gone by forever. Poetry and time should be put together. Poetry is just poetry, but when poetry goes through time, no matter what it was at the time, it will become something more valuable. Don't worry so much about writing poetry. Just write it. This is a poem you wrote for yourself and has nothing to do with anyone else.